Drowning Sorrows
by Supernaturelle
Summary: Dean and Sam get drunk after The Magnificent Seven.  There are revelations and consequences and tequila.  Oneshot.  Rated T for language only.


**Title: Drowning Sorrows**

**Disclaimer**: We don't own them. Oh, that we did... We just like to feed them copious amounts of tequila and see what they do :)

**Author's note**: This is a co-write between me and ohmygodnotthecar. It's set just after The Magnificent Seven. Some might call it wasting an afternoon, and they may be right. You decide! Let us know what you think.

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"You... are drunk." The fact that Dean was also smashed and currently seeing two little brothers through the haze of tequila did not affect the truth of his statement in the least. Sam was, indeed, drunk.

"You're stupid."

"Your _hair_ is stupid."

"You sound _gay_ when you talk about my hair." Sam smirked before lifting the bottle for another swig and realizing it was nearly empty.

"You're gay, bitch." Sam was still staring pensively at the bottle, trying to marshal his thoughts. He wasn't sure it was even possible for two people to have consumed that much tequila. Had Bobby drunk some too? Sam honestly couldn't remember. Which should have been a worry, but a more pressing issue was on his mind.

"We need more drink."

"I am in total agreement with... whatever you just said. It sounds good."

"You know what? I am king of all the demons. All of them. I bet I could make them bring us a drink. Or maybe not."

"You're wha'?"

"_I am the demon king!_"Sam rose from his chair, holding the empty tequila bottle like a trophy, before quickly realizing that half a bottle of tequila and sudden changes in altitude do not mix. He promptly slumped back into the seat.

"You're so not the king. _I'm _the king. I kick demon ass! You fight like a girl. You're, like, king of the bitches. Bitches of demons." Dean snorted at his own joke. Sam pulled his confused, labrador-puppy-_can't-see-whether-you've-thrown-the-ball-or-whether-it's-still-in-your-hand _face.

"Wha' the fuck... No, no, I meant, like, when they _made_ me king."

"Did you hit your head?_ Again?_ Or did I just miss a whole bunch of stuff?" Dean's right eyebrow sluggishly tried to arch before giving up the effort in disgust.

"What? Oh, right, I didn't tell you... did I? No, 'cos then there was th – the thing, and the burning, and – and – you made a _stupid _deal, and it was _stupid, _and why? _Why _did you make the stupid deal man?"

"Stop. Back up. Now... Which demons made you king?" Dean had a vague feeling he should probably be more sober for this conversation. It sounded like new information, and new information was rarely good. He really wasn't tracking Sam's thoughts. Which meant that at least one of them was definitely far too drunk.

"Well, it's... they didn't actually _make _me king... but – it's long story. 'M tired. Have you got any more tequila?"

Dean attempted some drunken cunning. "Yeah. I'll give you some if you tell me the story. Lime, and... and salt, and everything. The girly way."

"'M not a girl." Sam made an impressively girly bitchface before realizing he was still holding the dregs of the tequila bottle himself. He went for a manly swig but realized halfway through that he was about to sneeze. Which was a problem. The choke that resulted from trying to swallow and hold back the sneeze at the same time sprayed tequila over quite a wide blast radius.

"Don't waste the alcohol. 'S good."

"I was gonna tell you th' story. But now, you called me a girl again. So bite me. 'Cos – 'cos you're a jerk."

"Ok, you're not a girl. Have s'more tequila and tell the story. 'Cos how will I _know _you really are the king unless... unless I know?"

"But, but I _am_ the king. They said so. Ya know – there were 7 of them. The sins. And, and then there were three of them. _Three at once._ It was scary, man. And, and Pride – who is a _bastard_ – said that 'cos of the whole – demon, with the yellow eyes, and the children, and the _death match_. And, and I'm alive, so I'm the king now!" Dean was now halfway to sober and really not liking it. Turned out the cushion of alcohol had actually been a good accompaniment to this conversation.

"You should _tell_ me these things, man! 'S important. Might have to, like, exorcise you or, or..."

"Or kill me?" Sam laughed, oblivious to the way Dean's face set like stone somewhere between fury and major guilt. "Oh, dude, deja vu."

"Sam, not funny." Dean's voice had dropped an octave. "Never funny. Also? Never happening."

"But, 's ok. 'S fine. 'Cos, 'cos I know you don't mean... like, you wouldn't, you know?"

"Doesn't even matter. The demon _died_, Sam. We killed it. We kicked its _ass_ . Which means _you are not evil._"

"Sure am the demon king, though," Sam drawled with quiet resignation.

"What does that even _mean_? This crap was meant to be over now the son-of-a-bitch is dead. I mean, the freaky visions are gone. Just, what the hell?"

"Search me. I would have asked, but then they were choking me, and then the hot blonde chick stabbed _all _of them, and... Why _does _everything always go for my neck?" Sam's train of thought was de-railing again. Dean chose to ignore it.

"Maybe you can be the demon king and not be evil. It could be an advantage. Like, they have to fight for good if you tell them to. _Use the force, Luke._"

"No." Sam pointed emphatically at Dean, as if the gesture would somehow convey the point for him. "No, no. That would be a good thing. And good things. Don't happen. To me. Pride kinda explained it. All it does now the yellow-eyed demon is dead is make me a target."

"Well that sucks out loud."

"Yeah, no shit."

Both brothers briefly shared a headspace of deep depression, their gazes fixed firmly on the floor. In a moment of drunken clarity, Dean eventually realized that Sam needed some cheering up. And if they both didn't escape from the impending chick-flick hell, they would both seriously regret it in the morning. And hangovers just aren't half as fun if you have to deal with "things I regret saying" as well.

"'S alright, though, 'cos you've got me. And some freaky chick with a knife who fights better than you, so... Where did you even _get_ this tequila, man? It freakin' _burns_."

There was no reply. Dean glanced over to see Sam's head lolling over the back of the chair, his mouth hanging wide open as he began to gently snore. Dean slowly eased himself out of his own chair and stumbled the two steps to his bed. He collapsed onto the mattress and, after a few seconds of prematurely regretting the next morning, into deep sleep.


End file.
